For the Fairest
by tdei
Summary: Genre warning enclosed. Speculation on past possible trauma for Tamaki, explaining a few traits he has now. OCxyoung!Suou.


Title: For the Fairest  
By: tdei  
Disclaimers: Ouran Host Club is the property of Bisco Hatori and its respective agencies.  
**Warnings**: Suggested pedophilia. Molestation.  
Note: OC/Suoh Tamaki. Set in France, pre-series. After all the insistence of being fatherly and the propriety, it gets one thinking if some trauma could have caused such behavior. Okay, I admit I'm also kind of a sick bastard. But hey, just imagine him younger with these huge pretty violet eyes and that delicately waving hair longer. What immoral person could resist? (Especially in France.) ...I didn't really do anything to him in this fic, I swear. It could be much worse. Or continued. :cough: Aiming for creepiness and wrongness. Thanks to Wren for some decision help! All original characters and the storyline are mine. Please do not repost this fic anywhere without my permission.

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"Suou," smiles Marque Larway at the large-eyed little boy sitting awkwardly on the cushioned chaise lounge. Its elegance suits the half-Japanese youth, left alone by his mother who'd flitted off to gossip with her friends at the party, more than the gaudy monstrosity of a sofa he had been dwarfed in. It was easier than Marque expected to coax the tiny thing to come with him. Trust of an old family friend, Marque supposes, overrides any natural reservations.

"You're such a beautiful child," Marque murmurs in velvety, purring French. He stands over Suou, tugging loose a long wavy lock of the small boy's shining gold hair, and bows his sensuous lips over the silken strands like he would to greet a lady's hand. "You look like an angel."

Suou shifts nervously, swinging thin legs askew. He glances hesitantly from Marque, striking in his stylish dress clothes, to the closed windows. He doesn't understand why Monsieur Larway had shut the windows when it is such a beautiful, sunny day in the French countryside. Or the door. Although since the room had no locks, the other partygoers could still come in. Perhaps it was an adult thing. He doesn't really understand either why they'd come to this deserted sitting room in the side wing, where no one was, without his mother.

"I wouldn't be surprised if you had wings at your back. Could I see?"

Suou self-consciously raises a small hand and holds his collar closed, as if automatically forestalling any movement towards his untucked shirt before he loosens his fist in chagrin of being rude. "I don't have any, Monsieur Larway."

Marque smiles at the six-year-old's delicate French, stilted slightly from unfamiliarity. Suou's high voice is like lilting music.

"I cannot believe it. If there is justice, there should be such signs of otherworldly beauty marking your divinity," Marque flirts. Even in the dimness of this seldom used sitting room, the half-Japanese boy shines, his loveliness an amalgam of perfect familiarity and exoticness. The spun white-gold of his hair and the near-translucence of his flawless skin is French, but the foreign lilac color of his gently slanting eyes and the fine slightness of his form is Japanese.

Suou flushes from the excessive flattery, taking it as a sign of fond teasing, before he tries to return the favor. His mama often does this too, as well as many of her other friends.

"You are too kind, monsieur, if only I were as true as you esteem me to be."

Marque laughs delightedly at him and Suou smiles. He startles as Marque lifts his free hand and brushes a kiss across his knuckles. "You are truly an angel, Suou. Are there the marks of wings upon your back? Please, let me see." He tugs at Suou's sleeves, coaxingly.

This extent of teasing was strange to Suou. "But Mama says," Suou says hesitantly in a thin voice, "To be unclothed is vulgar and rude."

"Ah, she may be mistaken. After all, are the nude works of artists vulgar?"

Suou shakes his head hard, eyes wide from the thought of defaming art.

"See? Showing skin can be charming. Hasn't your mama also told you being charming is the most earnest form of adoration?" coaxes Marque gently, admiring the lost look in mesmerizing eyes the color of a shifting sky at twilight.

Suou nods, long silvered eyelashes lowering thoughtfully. "Yes, but..."

"I do not find being unclothed vulgar. If it worries you, your mama doesn't have to know. I promise I won't tell her." Marque's verdant eyes shine at him conspiratorially.

"Oh," Suou says in bewilderment. "Then... I guess it's okay..." It must be if an adult, especially one of mama's friends, says so. He reaches up and uncertainly flicks open the buttons fastening his white dress shirt. "But, monsieur, I really have no wings."

"Let me see..." whispers Marque again, curving his dark-haired head over Suou's sloping shoulder and running his warm hands over Suou's bare shoulder blades. The shirt pools around Suou's slim waist. Unsettled by the older man's breath in his ear, Suou shivers from the firm pressure of fingertips tracing against his scapula, trailing down his spine. When they hit his pants, they pause. Already uncomfortable, Suou presses his hands against Marque's looming chest in skittish panic when his hands dip under his waistband.

"Monsieur, what... what are you doing?" Suou's frightened breathing hitches. "Please don't..."

Marque kisses the small arch of his collarbone and shushes him quietly, raising a hand to pet his hair even as the other hand lowers to cup a buttock. "Such lack of composure! It's okay. Shh... It's okay--"

"You **vile bastard**, what are you doing with my son!" A pretty blonde woman stands in front of the now ajar door, trembling in disbelieving rage.

Marque gives a minute start, but draws back smoothly. He keeps a large hand, entangled in Suou's soft spill of hair, resting on the bare nape of Suou's slender neck and curls the other around one of Suou's small, shaking hands. "Merely admiring your lovely son's charm, Madam Tamaki."

Mama is very, very angry, Suou sees. He shrinks against Marque, who draws him close, away from his mother's fury. Suou wonders what he's done wrong. "Mama...?" he asks, wavering.

"Suou-chan, come here." The command is beseeching and tense. Suou hesitates for a moment, frightened by both, before finally getting up to go to her. He sees terror in her eyes when he is stopped, held fast by Marque's grip on his arm. It scares him and he can't understand what's going on. But Marque lets him go, after handing him his discarded shirt, with a teasing tug on Suou's wrist.

"Thank you, Monsieur Larway," whispers Suou uncertainly, taking the shirt. Marque hums indulgently, seating himself more comfortably on the chaise lounge and crosses a leg over a knee. He watches Suou patter to his mother, who slides Suou's shirt back over his bare arms and pulls Suou out of sight behind her.

"You lowly bastard, I thought of you as a father to him." The hiss is venomous.

"I apologize most humbly," drawls Marque, lips curving in a gently chiding smirk as he half-bows in his seat to Suou's mother. "I've never seen myself like a daddy to Suou-kun." There is a caressing edge to Marque's voice that has the mother clutch Suou tighter.

"Don't come near him again," she spits out, searing fire in her eyes. If Marque had been any less influential and powerful a man, she would attack him, ineffectual as it would've been against a man of his strength. Instead, she spins from him and leaves the room, Suou tightly held beside her.

Suou stumbles as they go, holding his unbuttoned shirt closed, and peeks back in ashamed apology. He has never heard his mother swear so.

Marque grins, his amused smile a cruel promise, when their eyes meet. His smile burns in Suou's eyes and follows them out of the dark room, lingering like a Cheshire cat's.


End file.
